captain, Adan. I’m Rashan’s champion. I can’t keep the title if I can’t do the work.”
“She’s right, though,” Honey told Adan, “she’s a really bad fighter without her spells.”
Adan looked at me and nodded. “That’s okay,” he said. “I was, too, at first. We’ve got all day to work on it. You’ll be ready, Domino.”
We all make a lot of choices in life. Most of the time we can’t see with perfect clarity where those choices will lead. It’s only with hindsight that we can look back and judge the wisdom-or lack thereof-of the decisions we made. We choose that path less taken and when we find ourselves all alone in the middle of the woods at night, only then do we ask, “What the fuck was I thinking?”
On rare occasions, though, we make choices that are so foolish it’s obvious even in the heat of the moment. We make them anyway because we seem to have eliminated all the options. I didn’t believe in fate. I didn’t believe in some magic in history that pushes us along in some preordained direction. But every now and then you really had to wonder. I couldn’t figure out exactly how we’d gone from “free the Xolos” to “kill La Calavera” to “one-on-one, toe-to-toe honor duel with La Calavera at the front gates of the Pink Palace.”
Gangsters don’t do honor duels. We have fairly elaborate rules in place to make them unnecessary. You follow the rules, you don’t have to worry too much about getting clipped-unless someone else decides to break the rules. And if you do break the rules you don’t feel entitled to any honor duel. If you’ve earned it, you might get enough time to put on your best suit and there might be a pleasant car ride out into the desert, but that’s about it. Mostly, you’re just hoping they send a professional and the work will get done fast and clean.
There was a kind of logic to what I was doing and it was even a kind of logic I was familiar with. It wasn’t the logic of the ordinary world-it was the logic of magic. With sorcery, actions had little significance in themselves. There was no magic in the quotations I used for spellcasting; there was no magic in the web surfing I did for divination magic. The magic-the significance-was behind and beneath those actions. The magic was in the symbolism. Honey had it right when she said I had to see the showdown with La Calavera as a ritual. The act of killing the spirit was just a symbol, and for that symbol to have magic I had to do it right.
The true goal wasn’t just to kill La Calavera. It was to break her power. And that’s why I was standing alone at the front gate of the Pink Palace just after sundown with only Ned at my side to give me comfort. I knew why I was there. I knew what I had to do. Maybe it was fate. Or maybe that was just a word for actions noble, necessary and really fucking stupid.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” I muttered. Then I tilted my head back, cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted into the cerulean darkness. “La Calavera Catrina,” I yelled, “I’m calling you out!” I couldn’t cast spells in the Between but I put some juice into it, just as I had that first time I called Honey.
Then I waited. Being the glass-half-empty type, I’d given some thought to what I’d do if she simply ignored me. I couldn’t say I’d come up with anything that really broke new ground, but I had some good insults at the ready if it came to that.
Fortunately, La Calavera was ready to play. With a ghostly creaking, the gates began to open of their own accord and I saw her walking alone down the winding, wood-lined driveway. The dress was black and white vertical stripes this time and the hat was smaller, more of a derby, with a wide silver band. She glided, swaying, and she reminded me of a lioness moving nonchalantly toward the antelope at the edge of the herd.
She stopped and cocked a hip like she’d reached the end of the runway at a fashion show. “This is rather a surprise, Domino,” she said. “The usual custom is for my callers to ring the doorbell.”
“This isn’t a social call,” I said.
“What, then? I’m afraid you’ve caught me at an inconvenient time. I’m to entertain at the club this evening.”
“I need you to free the Xolos. You could do it as a favor to me, if you’re so inclined. If not, I’m here to make you do it.”
La Calavera laughed. “You’re not particularly skilled at asking favors.”
“I’m not asking. But you could look at it that way, if it makes it easier for you.”
“Why would I want to free the Xolos? Really, you’ve no idea the trouble I went through to acquire them.”
“They don’t belong here, La Calavera, and they’re needed on my side. The dead walk in their absence. You might have noticed that if you weren’t so self-absorbed.”
She brought a finger clad in black silk to her lips and considered it. “The dead walking sounds splendid, but I take it you find this somewhat objectionable. Perhaps we can arrange a trade.”
“Right,” I said. “You give up the dogs. Or I take your life and then I take the dogs. That’s the deal.”
The spirit gave me a brief glimpse of the full calavera, probably to make the point that her patience was limited. “Your negotiating skills are somewhat rusty as well, dear.”
“So what’s it going to be?” I let my hand fall to Ned’s walnut grip. I guess I was giving her the full calavera.
“Hmm. The dogs or my life,” she said. “Here is my counterproposal. When you beg me to kill you, I’m going to throw what’s left of you in the pit with the worst of my Xolos, the ones so maddened by pain and blood they-”
In one swift motion, I drew Ned and shot La Calavera right between her black-rimmed eyes. A ragged hole opened in her phantasmal flesh and blue fire licked at the edges. A trickle of black juice ran down the bridge of her nose and onto her flawless, pale cheek. She wiped at it and then studied her finger. The juice pulsed against the silk, black on black. She put the finger between her lips and sucked it clean. La Calavera shuddered. Then she smiled.
The flesh melted from her face and body in an instant. Her fashionable clothes aged decades before my eyes, falling to rags and dusty tatters as I watched. She raised a hand and pointed at me, and bony claws extended from the ragged fabric of her gloves. A chill wind blew up from nowhere and I felt a touch, light and cold as the Beyond, on my cheek. I looked up and saw motes of blue-lit ice falling from the darkening sky like manna. It was snowing.
“My turn, bitch,” the spirit said.
The force magic hit me full in the face and knocked me across the street and into the pole of a streetlight that didn’t seem to have much of a purpose in the Between. The impact sheered the pole in two and it crashed into the street, spitting sparks that periodically cast a hard, white edge on the battle. I kept going, into the high stone wall partially concealed in the trees and shrubbery that lined the boulevard. The masonry crumbled when I hit it and I was swallowed up in a cloud of fine, choking dust.
I came out of the dust cloud with Ned leveled at La Calavera, my other hand fanning the hammer. The spirit moved so fast it left a ghostly afterimage in her wake and my fusillade burned away uselessly into the night. La Calavera had moved to the edge of the driveway, by the gate, and the metal shrieked as she tore a wickedly spiked, wrought-iron bar from it. I had time to notice it was pink before the spirit turned in a fluid motion and hurled it at me.
I caught the deadly missile in my off hand and let the momentum spin me in a tight circle. As I came out of the spin, I twirled the spear around so the business end was pointing the right direction, and then I chucked it back at La Calavera. It struck her in the chest and pinned her to the brick pillar supporting the gate. You might think a skull wouldn’t have the goods to look surprised, but you’d be wrong. La Calavera looked down at the pink spike impaling her and her lower jaw dropped open. She looked back at me and cocked her namesake to the side.
“You missed the training montage,” I said. Then I leaped across the street, tore the spike out of her chest and slammed it home again. Black juice bubbled from the skeletal grin and ran down the bony chin onto her ruined dress.
The spirit laughed, her desiccated jaws and black-stained teeth rattling with the effort. She grabbed me by the ears and head butted me, and I felt the impact shatter my nose. She brought up a knobby knee and kicked me in the groin, and then the force magic pummeled me again and I tumbled into the street. I rolled to my feet and watched as she jerked and lurched forward, wrenching her body off the spike that impaled her. When she was free, she stepped into the street and turned to face me. Black juice flowed freely from her mouth and chest. It sizzled and smoked when it struck the snow-covered pavement.
I have to admit, I was expecting her to take advantage of the break in the action and serve up a nice villainous monologue. Instead, she shrieked and launched herself at me. I got Ned up and fired a shot that tore away the side of her skull, but she kept coming. She tackled me and we went rolling across the asphalt. She came out on top. She grabbed two fistfuls of my hair and slammed the back of my head into the street. Then she leaped
